Crash Into Me
by elleisforlovee
Summary: When Sybil Crawley attends a university party with her older sister Mary, she doesn't expect to have a good time, and she certainly does not expect to meet anyone new. But a stolen bottle of stout sparks conversation between her and Tom Branson, and all too quickly, Sybil finds she doesn't want it to end.
1. Stout and Feminism

**Disclaimer****: **I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

**A/N****:** This began as a bit of a joke. I was very ahead on writing chapters of my story B_eautiful Collisions_ and I asked **angiemagz** for a prompt. Really, I was bored. What I didn't expect was that I was going to actually really like what I wrote, and not only share it with Angie, but on tumblr. The reaction was a bit intense, but I'm certainly not complaining. This was really fun to write and it was nice not to take myself so seriously for once. All I can say is that currently, this stands as a one-shot, but there is definitely a possibility of that changing in the near future.

**Unbeta'd

Enjoy! And do review if you feel so compelled! xx

* * *

"Touch your lips just so I know  
In your eyes, love, it glows so  
I'm bare boned and crazy for you  
When you come  
Crash  
into me..."  
_Crash Into Me_ - Dave Matthews Band

* * *

It wasn't the first college party she had been to, and when Mary suggested she go, Sybil was forced to laugh into the fold of the magazine she was reading to conceal this fact. Her first was actually last year, and while she admitted afterwards that it was a mistake, she remembered feeling just as she did now: flattered for the invitation but altogether over the actual atmosphere of the gathering.

It was worth noting that despite Mary's outward confidence, on the inside she was not much for socializing. Mary was thinner than Sybil, with skin like porcelain and eyes as sharp as her jawline and corresponding smile. Sybil was softer, definitely, but already growing into her own, and unlike Mary she could (and often insisted on) carrying a conversation, knowing it would get her much farther than her beauty ever would — but because her mind was so quick, and certainly not because her looks were lacking.

Even so, nothing could mollify how awkward she felt when Mary, as predicted, left her alone while she said hello to her close friend Matthew, a boy she'd been hopelessly in love with since freshmen year who constantly seemed oblivious to her romantic advances. Sybil allowed her sister to go, doing so with an eye roll, while inwardly smiling as she hoped this would finally be the night to push them together. In her sister's absence, she brushed past a few groups of people, all of whom gawked at her, not recognizing her as Mary Crawley's youngest sister in platform heels and bright red lipstick.

Despite the smells in existence, things like marijuana, grape incense, and cheap beer, Sybil was always so amused by how organized everything was at these parties. A full keg stood beside several coolers of beer in the kitchen and nearby, bags of chips littered the countertops with half-empty liquor bottles. It was as if these Cambridge-educated kids were paying homage to the same parents that paid their tuition and financed their habits by insisting that food and drink be kept to the kitchen while lines of coke, fellatio, and sickness were reserved for the more private areas like the bedrooms and back hallways. She was sure, or at least she hoped, that Mary and Matthew were off enjoying one of those bedrooms, even if it meant leaving her on her own.

"At least one of us is having fun," she said, rolling her eyes heavenward as she grabbed for a bottle of stout from the fridge.

"Hey!" she heard directly behind her, causing her head to spin quickly, her eyes set upon the owned of the voice: a tall and broad boy with chestnut colored hair. He smiled. "You live here?"

"No," she mumbled.

Another smile, and this time, he raised a hand to her arm, steadying Sybil who began to teeter as a couple quickly brushed by them. In response, she smiled too. "I know you don't," he said slyly. "Because I do. And that's my beer," he pointed.

Sybil looked down to her hand where her fingers clutched the neck of a cold bottle of Blackheart Stout. "Sorry," she apologized as she went to hand it back to him.

"There's light beer in the coolers," he stated casually, reaching forward to grab the drink with the intention of putting it back in the fridge.

"Excuse me?" Sybil shouted.

"There's light beer in the coolers," he repeated, this time slowly and with more volume.

Sybil smirked. "No, I heard what you said." A pause, and her smirk grew. "Who said I liked light beer?"

"Well don't you all?"

"All?" Sybil asked before dropping her head back to laugh. "As in all of what? Us girls?" she clarified. He nodded. "That's a pretty sexist remark, don't you think? I mean, I don't assume you drink Stout because you're a guy. I actually assume you drink stout because you think it makes you look cool. I don't know," Sybil said casually, "Maybe you have a small dick and by drinking Stout you can convince every girl here you're tough and strong."

He wiped at his lip and looked at her to laugh. "Are you always this lovely to be around?"

Sybil didn't falter. "Yes. Always."

"Well can I have your name then?"

It was Sybil's turn to laugh. "Why do you want my name?"

"So I can tell my friends who stole my beer."

"Sybil," she said flatly, now extending her hand toward him.

"Tom," he gave back, another one of those smiles he always seemed to be wearing creeping across his face as he did so. "Do you go here, Sybil? I've never seen you around."

"Oh, no, I'm...I'm visiting a friend," she said quickly.

He looked her up and down. "Thought so. Just making sure I don't have to worry about this becoming a regular thing." Casually, with the thought expelled and his own mind already a bit foggy from the shots he'd done earlier, he began to walk away.

"Hey!" Sybil called out after him. Tom turned around and she continued. "That's it?"

"What?" Tom smirked. "You stole my beer. You made jokes. I made jokes. Did you need something else?"

"Wow," Sybil said, rolling her eyes and taking a swig of her beer. "Now who's being lovely?"

He smirked. It seemed he couldn't control the reaction, and Sybil found she couldn't help the way she pursed her lips and began intently studying the way his fringe pieced and fell over his forehead. "I'm actually taking a women's history class this semester."

"Women's history?" Sybil mused. "Is that where they taught you we all drink light beer?"

"And wear red lipstick," he said with a knowing smile, the neck of his bottle of beer pointed at Sybil's lips.

She took another sip of her beer and then looked straight ahead. "We breathe fire too."

"We cover that next week, actually," Tom said, playing along.

"Ahh," Sybil nodded, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Spoiler alert, then. Sorry about that."

Tom laughed. "It's okay." He drank his beer then turned to look at her. "So where do you go? Oxford?" he said quickly. "I bet you're an Oxford girl, aren't you?"

Sybil narrowed her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

"The heels. And you drink Stout," he commented. "I dated an Oxford girl once—"

"Yeah?" Sybil played along. "Did she wear heels and drink stout?"

"No, she was a crazy bitch with no taste. But she brought me to a party there once and some of the girls looked like you."

"Well, that's flattering," Sybil deadpanned before taking another swig of her beer.

"Me and my small dick get around."

Sybil laughed into the top of her beer. "Well, of course."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing as he smiled again, genuinely and without pretense as the thoughts he was having spilled off his lips. "I made you laugh," Tom said simply.

Sybil nodded. "Is that a new one for you?"

"Making pretty girls laugh? Yeah, it is," Tom said casually, earning wide eyes and raised eyebrows from Sybil. "I told you, my last girlfriend was a crazy bitch."

In an attempt to cover up how flattered she actually was, Sybil looked away. "I'm out," she said quickly, holding her empty bottle in front of Tom, shaking the liquid in the bottom to foam in aid of her point. "I'll see you around…"

Tom grabbed her wrist, his body pressed into hers now as he moved to stop her from going. She looked down and inhaled sharply, the sight of his large hand resting perfectly on her hip was something he also noticed and together they looked up, finally breathing in. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Sybil shook her head but her eyes did not leave his. "I'm not going to your room…"

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he muttered quickly. At the sound of his own question, his eyes bulged, realizing his mistake. "Not that you should want to sleep with me if you didn't have a boyfriend. I don't want to sleep with you," he quickly said in remedy, only realizing how poor his word choice was when Sybil took a step back, forcing them to disconnect as a wave of cool air blew in between them.

"That's refreshing," she said sarcastically before once again moving to walk away.

"Sybil, wait!"

Quickly, Sybil turned back to him. "Listen! I'm just trying to pass the time while my...friend gets her kicks, alright? Thank you for the beer and thank you for the conversation, but you don't have to worry about offending me. I will probably never see you again and you probably won't even remember this in the morning, so…"

"I'm not that drunk," he offered simply. "Actually," Tom corrected, "I'm not drunk at all. I've barely got a buzz going."

"So you're just this insulting sober?"

"Yeah," Tom smiled. "To be honest, I am."

"Promising."

"I really just have a lot going for me."

Sybil smirked. "Maybe I should be asking you if you go here…"

"I do, actually," Tom confirmed as he now moved to stand beside her once again. "If everything goes according to plan I'll have my PhD in Political Thought and Intellectual History in June."

Genuinely, Sybil dropped her head back and let out a rather loud and hearty laugh. Coming down off her amusement, she looked to Tom who, for once, was not smiling. "Oh," Sybil said. "You're serious."

"I am."

"I'm sorry. I mean, of course you are. God doesn't give with both hands, right? I mean, small dick...you must be smart."

"Pretty girl," he played along. "Airhead then? Not an Oxford girl?"

"Yeah," Sybil accepted. "I'm a total airhead." But the way in which she looked to Tom now was different. She wasn't stupid, and her mind was moving quickly, calculating him and his wit and all of the things he had revealed to her in such a short period of time.

In lieu of them, she nodded. "I'll go up to your room."

Tom smiled. "I never said I was taking you to my room, Sybil. You made that assumption. I just asked if you wanted to get out of here."

"Oh," she blushed. Looking down, she kicked at the hardwood below, scuffing the floor with her heel as she pushed a stray curl behind her ear. "Right."

"But if you insist…"

Just like when she entered, Sybil's walk to Tom's room went altogether unnoticed and she found herself briefly wondering if he really did live here of if this would be something else she'd have to shamefully explain to Mary the morning after. Upon entry though, and with the rest of the party shut out, Sybil found silence graced a relatively clean room, and pictures hung in a collage on the wall, almost all of them containing Tom at a younger stage in life.

She laughed as she pointed to one. "Who's that?"

"My cousin Kieran."

"Where was it taken?"

"Back home," he stated casually as he walked to his mini-fridge for a bottle of water. "Want one?" he asked.

Sybil turned around, her mind still preoccupied by the photos. "No, but thank you." Then: "Where's home?"

"Dublin."

"Really?"

"No, actually," Tom said with a laugh. "I just say Dublin because it's easier than explaining where Kinsale is."

"Where is Kinsale then?" Sybil teased.

"Nowhere near Dublin, actually. It's a small town on the southwest coast of Ireland."

"I've never been."

"To Kinsale?" Tom laughed. "Nobody has, really."

"No," Sybil smiled as she clarified. "To Ireland."

"Nobody has, really," he repeated, causing Sybil to smirk before turning back to the photographs.

"Who's this?"

Tom came up behind her to get a better look at the photograph. "My mam," he said before taking a sip of his water.

"She's really quite stunning."

"Thanks."

Sybil looked to him, her face just mere inches away from his. "No joke to accompany that?"

"That's my mam," he offered. "I do have boundaries."

"Alright," Sybil nodded, accepting this as both fact while also giving it her own silent approval. "And your dad?"

"Around, just not in that photo," Tom said simply as he moved to sit on his bed with his back flush against his headboard.

Sybil turned to him. "Around, as in in your life?"

"Oh, yeah, he lives with us. I love him the way a son should love his father." He gave her a cheeky grin. "Did I not make that obvious enough?" She rolled her eyes and turned away. "Obviously not…" he whispered before drinking his water again.

"What about you?" Tom tried again, all of it an effort for him to continuously hear her voice, something he found himself craving almost as much as the plump red lips that pushed each word and accompanying sound out. "Your parents?"

"Also alive. And yes, I love them both."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Tom sassed.

"Siblings?" Sybil shot back.

"A younger and older sister, yeah."

Sybil nodded as she moved toward Tom, her lanky legs practically crashing down onto the mattress as they bent at the knee and allowed her to sit so casually. "Two older sisters…" Her voice trailed off as she looked to her feet and the way they awkwardly pushed her knees back into her chest. "This is awfully low to the ground," she observed.

Tom smirked. "I made this."

"You made this?" Sybil asked honestly. "I mean, that's amazing, I just…"

"I may have a small dick but I'm very good with my hands, Sybil…" His voice trailed off as if he wanted to ask her last name. He had other questions, one in particular he wished to revisit. "Boyfriend?"

"No," Sybil managed quickly. "No boyfriend," she swallowed. Then, she sat up straight and launched herself back up onto her feet as she once again began to walk around. "I'd ask you if you had a girlfriend but I know the answer is no."

"Oh really?" Tom chuckled. "And why is that?"

"I don't think you're stupid enough to bring a girl up here if you had a girlfriend."

"I think that was a compliment?" Tom found himself standing too, his body drawn to her, needing her close again.

Sybil laughed into the back of her hand, all of her, especially her eyes, unaware just how close he had become in such a short period of time. She turned around, but instead of being shocked by his presence, she merely smiled. "Yes, I think that was a compliment…" she agreed.

"You have beautiful eyes, Sybil."

She laughed and looked away. "Thank you?" she tried.

"You paid me a compliment. It's only right I return the favor."

"Okay," Sybil said, nodding as she pressed the tips of her fingers to her mouth. "You're right. That was very sweet, Tom."

"Nobody's ever told you that before?"

"No," she almost whispered. "No, they haven't."

"Alright, well, can I give you another?"

Sybil's eyes fluttered shut as her mind began to calculate what it was he'd choose to point out. Her legs, perhaps, as she had received compliments on those before. Or her lips, or the dark nature of her hair and the way it fell in waves down her back. Maybe he'd mention the perfume she was wearing or the way the hand she held on her hip had her slouching.

Tom leaned in, his body flush against hers, causing that same hand to fall to her side as he moved his head closer to Sybil's, their lips almost meeting. "I have to be honest with you, Sybil."

"You're very good at that," she admitted, both of them smiling, an action that had their lips nearly pressing into one another as they moved.

"You're the only person I've met and talked to this semester that hasn't bored me to death. And you have beautiful lips. And they say very cute, funny, wonderful things. And I'd very much like to kiss them…"

"Alright."

"Alright, yes, or—"

It wasn't his choice to make, or rather, his compliment only reinforced what Sybil was already feeling. She too wanted to kiss Tom, but as he'd said, and Mary and her family had commented on many times before, she excelled in conversation. Now though, as her hands leaned up to caress his neck and he kept a steady hand of his own pressed to her back, the silence was invigorating. It woke her up and made her not want to forget, especially now as Tom angled his head and she nodded in acceptance, taking his tongue inside her mouth. It was slow and it was hungry and it reminded her just how lovely it was to be wanted. He was so gentle, but she found herself wanting more, following through with a hand that went up to rake at his scalp as the two began to stumble back toward his bed.

When the door opened, it made sense for Mary to think that Sybil was in danger. Right before, Tom had fallen back against the mattress, and Sybil was ready to straddle him, had her sister and Matthew not interrupted.

"Sybil?" Mary let out. "Oh my god! What are you doing?"

"I…"

Tom smirked as he leaned back on his haunches. "You know Mary?"

"She's my sister!" Mary let out, speaking for Sybil.

"Oh, good god," Tom let out, dropping his head into his palm, using his fingers now to rub the tension from his eyes.

"I was coming up here to—"

"Fuck Matthew?" Tom said bluntly, causing Mary's eyes to bulge out of her head.

"No!" she practically screamed. "To see if you had my paper ready…"

Already, Tom had stood up and was walking toward his desk. Sybil had no option but to watch all of this unfold, and she did so feeling very small, her ankles crossed over one another as her hand covered her mouth, playing with her bottom lip while her eyes darted back and forth between this new boy and her sister.

"Here," Tom said, returning and carrying with him what looked to be a stapled packet. "I'd say it's a solid B paper."

"Thank you," Mary snapped as she began flipping through the pages.

"Why do you have Mary's paper?" Sybil finally asked.

"It's not Mary's paper," Tom corrected as he sat back down. "It's a paper I wrote that Mary's going to turn in."

"What? Why?"

"Because I paid him. Now, Sybil," Mary tried. "My turn to ask questions. First off, are you alright?"

Sybil chuckled and threw her hands down to her sides. "Yeah," she said, attempting to appear confident. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mary disregarded her question and instead just grabbed for Sybil's wrist before beginning to pull her out the door. "C'mon! We're leaving…"

"Mary! Mary…" Sybil stammered. Finally, she tossed her sister's arm away and looked down to the distance in existence between them.

Finally, Tom stood, wanting to intervene but knowing that if Sybil was anything like he imagined, she'd prefer he not. "Well I guess I don't need to ask for your last name but how...how old are you?" he asked instead, hoping to at least be able to make sense of this.

She went to speak, and the words she was about to give him were just as honest as she had been the entire night. Instead, Matthew appeared behind them and as he assessed the situation, let out a simple "Oh shit…"

"Yes, Matthew, 'oh, shit!' is correct. Now can you please drive us home?"

His face turned sad as he looked to the eldest Crawley sister. "You're going home?"

"Well now I am!" she gave. "I can't leave her here."

"Yeah, uh, sure," Matthew agreed. "Let's go."

Hand in hand, Mary and Sybil walked out of Tom's room, with Matthew then ushering them downstairs and out to his car.

"Are you okay to drive?" Sybil asked, her voice more curious than accusatory. As she waited for an answer, she hadn't even noticed that Mary was forgoing the passenger seat to instead sit beside her in the back, all the while still holding her hand, gently keeping it in her lap with her scarf and small leather clutch.

"We weren't even drinking. He's fine!" Mary yelled. "Sybil, I told you to be careful! Boys like Branson—"

"His name is Tom."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Darling, I know what his real name is but hardly anyone calls him that. Now, listen to me. I'm sorry I left you alone. That was unfair and it won't happen again. But I know how you are and I thought you'd make some friends—"

"I did make a friend…" Sybil muttered.

"Branson isn't a friend. You don't know him, alright?"

But she did know them, at least far better than Mary or even Matthew did. His name was Tom. He drank stout and wore glasses. He came from a good family and they lived in Kinsale, Ireland. He constantly managed to somehow be both cocky and insecure at the same time. He was working towards his PhD and he had a flat, a nice flat with his own room and a gorgeous view of the cityline. He had gorgeous eyes and broad shoulders and he made her laugh. He smelled good and dear god, he had the most beautiful set of lips.

"You're sixteen!" Mary's voice roared.

And she was sixteen.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	2. Their Weird Younger Daughter

**A/N****:** Even though I really shouldn't, this was too fun to write to not continue to do so. So here we are with chapter 2, which I am posting in honor of **Angie**(**Magz**)'s upcoming birthday.

Enjoy! x

* * *

Though Sybil found it rude that Mary called Tom by his last name, it was something she accepted, only because while Mary stood outside and thanked Matthew for taking care of them , Sybil was able to scroll through her sister's phone and find Tom's number with ease due to its proximity to the top of the alphabetical list. With her own phone, she took a picture of the contact, an action that finished only as Mary entered the home and swiftly slammed the door shut behind her. From there, it did not take long for it to dawn on Sybil how senseless it was that she waited on the steps. Then again, this conversation would have happened anyway; in Mary's mind, she had thoughts about all of this, ones that Sybil should almost consider herself blessed to hear. Sybil would listen, but she'd do so with fingers that itched, just wishing she could call or text Tom, at least to apologize.

"Sybil, what did you think you were doing? Honestly?"

"In my defense, Mary, you brought me to the party. Maybe I should be asking you the same thing…"

"I brought you because you're mature and..." Her voice trailed off but she had no other explanation.

"No," Sybil corrected, bringing herself to stand. "You brought me because you didn't want to be alone and then as soon as you saw Matthew you left me...alone!"

"Do you know how old Tom is?"

"No," Sybil said simply, her shoulders shrugging but a kink appearing in her brows as if to state that it really didn't matter. She smirked when Mary said nothing. "How old is he?"

"Older than me!" she gave, causing Sybil to look away and nod, already amused by how easy it was for Mary to judge those she clearly had no knowledge of.

"So?"

"Sybil, you're sixteen! Date a boy your age!"

"Who said anything about dating?"

"Well good then! But still! Darling, he's weird. He only lives at Matthew's flat because the boys' other roommate dropped out at the last minute and he quickly agreed to pay rent."

"Weird, Mary? Is that the worst you can think of to say about him? That he's weird? I'm weird, Mary! You and Matthew, also a bit weird. Who isn't weird these days?"

"But he's normally very quiet. He does very well in school—"

"Oh, a scholar?" Sybil sassed. "I sure know how to pick the losers."

"I'm just saying, you could do so much better, darling."

Sybil rolled her eyes as she began to ascend the staircase toward her bedroom. "Again, we were just chatting. He's nice and it gave me something to do and I won't apologize for that."

"Yes, well it's a good thing I walked in, isn't it? Boys like him have only one thing on their minds…"

"Boys like him? I thought that was boys in general."

"Oh, Sybil, I'm sure Matthew doesn't think that way."

"Why? Because if he did, he'd have slept with you by now, right?"

Mary sharply inhaled, and squared her shoulders as she looked her baby sister up and down. "That was a very hurtful thing to say, Sybil."

She sighed and looked away, her lips still tightly pursed. "I'm sorry."

"Just promise me you'll be careful from now on?"

"Just promise me you won't invite me to anymore shit uni parties?"

Mary nodded. "Done."

Together, both of them retreated to their rooms, Sybil, to her own on the far side of the hall, and Mary to the guest suite she'd stay in until her parents arrived home from Paris the following night. Inside, Sybil tossed off her dress and tights and walked around in her underwear, pacing, before finally grabbing for her phone to input Tom's number. When he was officially made a contact, she clicked her phone off, pacing again before grabbing for it and quickly clicking on his name to begin a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Hi," she let out, her voice wary — embarrassed, mostly.

"Sybil?"

"Yeah, hi, um—"

"Does Mary know you're calling me?"

"No, she, uh, I took her—"

"Because I'd really like to not go to prison tonight."

"She doesn't know," Sybil sighed. "I took your number out of her phone and just wanted to call and apologize. I wasn't honest with you and that wasn't right and I didn't mean to lie. I mean, that wasn't my intention. I didn't have any intentions, really, and I surely didn't intend on being invited up to your room. But I've only been to one other party in my life and the same thing happened there so...you know what?" Sybil said as she dropped her forehead down against her palm, her eyes blinking at the white wood of her headboard, "I'm just going to stop talking now."

Tom chuckled. "You never answered my question, you know."

"Does it need an answer? You already asked if you were going to prison…"

"So seventeen?"

"Sixteen," she corrected.

"Jesus Christ."

"So that's it," she said quickly, already feeling unwanted, and not wanting to risk anymore of the same feelings, or even to show to him that this is how she felt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't go," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," he emphasized, causing Sybil to picture him sitting on his own bed, propped up on a few pillows maybe as he held his phone to his ear. Was the party still going on? Was he alone?

"Well, you can go back to the party, or do whatever it was you were doing…"

"No, I, uh, I want to talk, if that's what you want."

"I do," Sybil said, smiling now, finding that this was most likely a common feature she'd wear when in his presence.

"Okay, just give me a second to kick this girl out…"

"What?" Sybil asked quickly, hoping she heard him incorrectly.

She didn't, but Tom's laughter told her he was kidding. Immediately, the look of horror was wiped from her face, only to be replaced now by a more hesitant, and pleasantly amused one. "You're an ass," she gave frankly.

"Would that have bothered you? If there was a girl here?"

Sybil thought for a moment. "I'd feel bad."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't be able to talk to you, s'all. I mean, if you already found another girl to spend the night with then—"

"That wasn't my intention, Syb. I need you to know that."

"What did you just say?" she asked, her voice breathy, and once again, filled with so much want.

Tom smiled. "I said that wasn't my intention."

"No…" Sybil said, a grin spreading across her lips again. "You called me Syb."

"Oh. You're right, I did...is that okay? Bad? Has an ex called you that and completely turned you off from the name? I do that sometimes. Except with your sister. I called her Mar' once, and she got really offended because I think she thought I was calling her a horse."

"Or, she was just terrified of the thought of you two being close enough that that type of talk is okay."

"Or that," Tom agreed and silence fell. "Is that okay then? That I call you Syb?"

"Yes, that's alright. I actually quite like it."

"Okay," Tom said. "Me too."

"I plan on calling you Tom," Sybil said quickly. "I mean, if that's alright with you. Unless there's other names you go by."

"Just Tom."

"But Mary calls you Branson?"

"Well, yeah, I suppose a lot of people do."

"Do you mind?"

"I don't think they care if I mind," Tom said honestly, even adding another small breathy laugh to lessen the blow.

"I mind. If you don't want to be called something, I think—"

"Syb, it's fine. Really, I could not care less. And I don't want to talk about them, alright? I want to talk to you. About you. And why you were at the party tonight…"

Sybil repositioned herself on her bed, and only then did she realize she was still in her underwear. She was sixteen, half-naked, and talking to a much older man on the phone. _Casual_, she thought. "Well you know Mary's in love with Matthew, right?"

"Bummer…"

"Why, because you like Mary?"

"No, I don't like Mary!" Tom gave quickly, making his offense at such a comment as clear as his words. "Christ, Sybil! I wasn't raised in a barn."

Sybil laughed. "She's really lovely. She has a big heart. It's sad though, because a lot of boys really do fancy her and none of them for those reasons," she said, biting her lip. "And the kicker is that the one boy she wants, like really wants and pines for and would do anything for, doesn't seem to want her back."

"Matthew?"

Sybil nodded. "Matthew."

"I don't know. I always thought he kind of liked her."

"She tried to kiss him last week and he moved his head. It was rough. She cried for days."

"She told me she had allergies."

"Well, she has those too," Sybil said with a laugh, "But she was crying over Matthew. Really, I feel bad for her. I think they'd be good together."

"Alright," Tom said, also straightened up. Unlike Sybil, he was still in his clothes from the party, and the water he had opened when Sybil was still here sat on his bedside table, almost empty. 'I'm going to say something that might shock you, so get ready, okay?"

"Okay…"

"Men are fucking clueless. Like really fucking clueless."

"Like not knowing girls ages clueless, or…?"

Tom dropped his head back to laugh. "No. You're just a good liar. And," he added for good measure, "you don't at all look sixteen." His laughter died down and the mood became serious again. "We just, I mean, I don't want to speak for all men, but I'll even include myself in this one...we're just fucking dumb. We don't know anything. And something girls also don't get is that we're just as scared to get our hearts broken as you are."

"I'm not scared to get my heart broken," Sybil said quickly.

"Well, I am," Tom countered.

"I'm scared someone will never love me enough for that to even happen. I'm scared nobody will ever be able to understand me on this level."

"What level?" Tom asked. "This level?" he repeated, now realizing that there was a strong possibility she was referring to them, and the conversation they were currently having, along with the one they had had earlier in the night.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, now dropping her head down into her hands to rub at her eyes. "I don't know what I'm saying."

"Why do you always apologize? Do I seem offended? You don't offend me…"

"I know I don't and that scares me a bit, Tom."

He chuckled. "Why does that scare you?"

"Because I'm sixteen and you're…" she stopped, realizing then that she still didn't know how old he was.

"Twenty-six."

"Right," Sybil nodded. "Twenty-six."

"Are you still scared?"

"Terrified." Then: "Aren't you?"

"No. Not really. Like I said, Sybil, at no point did I realize you were sixteen. When Mary came in, it connected for me. She mentioned she had a younger sister, but I thought you were eighteen, or nineteen. If she hadn't, I'd have thought you were at least twenty-one or twenty-two."

"I'm not though," she repeated. It was as if she was waiting for this all to make sense. For him to realize how dangerous this was, and to retract everything he had said to her that night. "I'm sixteen."

"Well you're cooler than I was when I was sixteen."

"Considering you're not cool now, I refuse to take that as a compliment."

"Ouch. Sybil Crawley goes for the jugular."

"Sometimes," she shrugged. "I'm kidding. You're very cool, Tom."

"Okay, well no one likes a liar, so…"

"I'm serious!" she gave with a laugh of her own. "You have a very nice flat right in the heart of Cambridge. You go to Uni. You're getting your PhD. Mary tells me you're very smart. You drink Stout. You have pictures of your family up in your room. Very cool."

"I don't think any other girl would think those things are cool."

"Well then they suck because I think those things are cool."

"Alright, no need to get passionate…"

"You'll find I'm a very passionate person," Sybil stated simply.

"Yes, about stout and women's rights, apparently."

"Hey, what's your dissertation on?" Sybil asked, wanting to talk about something else.

"Funny you should ask. The role of women in politics and society in shaping the nation of Ireland."

"No, seriously, I want to know," Sybil laughed. "What is it?"

"Um, okay," Tom let out a breathy laugh. But he gave the same answer: "The role of women in politics and society in shaping the nation of Ireland."

Sybil was silent. "You're serious?"

"Yes. It's fine, you can laugh. My mam and dad did too."

"Why did they laugh?"

"You're not familiar with Ireland, are you?"

"I already told you, I've never been."

"Well, we'll certainly have to fix that. But, uh, there's not a lot of information on this. I've actually spent a lot of time going back and forth, trying to find actual people to interview. I believe women did have a large role to play in the struggle toward an Independent Ireland, but unfortunately, Ireland sees it differently. I mean, here," he said, trying to think of an example she could connect to, "who runs your house, Sybil?"

"Mr. Carson."

Tom blinked, not expecting that answer. "Who the feck is Mr. Carson?"

"Oh, he's our butler."

"Jesus Christ. You are so posh."

"I'm not posh!" Sybil defended with a high-pitched laugh. "Totally not posh…"

"Okay, well out of your parents, who is it? Your mum or your dad?"

"Oh, my dad, definitely."

"See, not in Ireland. In Ireland, the women run the house. The men just take all the credit."

"So what you're saying is that it's like that with the government too?"

"Government, armies, politics. Women have done really great things for this nation and they hardly go noticed because no one's brave enough to write them down."

"Why don't the women write for the women?"

"Are you unaware of how privilege works?"

"Yes, you see, I live in this posh bubble and I'm only allowed outside to eat, shop, and party with foul-mouthed Irish boys," Sybil deadpanned.

"Pity for that," he teased in return. "Wasn't even a very good party," he stated.

"Well, I think it's admirable what you're doing."

"Admirable, sure. I've gotten that one before."

"I'm serious! I'm not taking pity! I think that's really, really great. You're braver than I am. I never pick a paper topic without first knowing there are a multitude of sources on said topic."

"I always knew you were smart, Sybil Crawley."

"Always?" she teased.

"Since I met you…" His voice trailed off as he looked over at his watch. "Not even three hours ago."

"Tom…" Sybil's voice came out soft, and without pretense. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can we be friends?"

"I'd hope so. I actually wanted to see if you wanted to go out for tea sometime."

"I drink coffee, actually…"

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, really," Sybil said proudly. "Well, actually, it began as a bit of defiance. My father had said some belittling things so I began drinking coffee to upset him. Then, I couldn't stop. I actually found I enjoy the taste and the caffeine. I think I'm quite addicted to coffee if we're being completely honest."

"I'd expect nothing less from you," Tom said, and once again, Sybil found herself with no other choice but to smile. "Well, either way. Friends can do drinks, yes? Breakfast drinks. Hot breakfast drinks. Unless booze at eight in the morning is preferable. I mean, I don't judge."

"You are from Ireland," Sybil said in an attempt to make a joke.

"It's actually your country that created that, I'll have you know. And it's not just Ireland. South Africa. India. All of them have incredibly high rates of alcoholism. Being colonized leads people to drink. Who would have thought?"

"Alright then, bad joke. Sorry about that."

Tom shrugged. His voice was still light, and now he worried that in sharing this information, he had offended her. "Don't apologize. Just my fun fact of the day."

"Shall I be expecting more pieces of wisdom from here on out?"

"Absolutely. Expect your next tomorrow morning at nine."

"Via text? Wake-up call? What?"

"No, in the car on the way to the cafe. I'll give it to you then." Sybil went to speak, but Tom continued. "Is that alright, Sybil?"

"That's very early."

"That is actually a very normal breakfast time," Tom corrected.

"Alright." She paused. "Is this a date?"

"Fuck no!" Tom let out. "Because that would be illegal...I think. Just two friends, drinking tea and coffee together on a Saturday morning."

"Alright," Sybil beamed. "And you said you'd pick me up? Do you know where I live?"

"No, I do not. This is the part where you tell me. And then you assure me that your parents will not be home."

"As a matter of fact, my parents will not be home. They're in Paris."

"So posh."

"And I live on Sedley Taylor. I'll text you my address..."

"So, so posh," Tom lamented.

"So you'll be here at nine?"

"Yes. And I'm always punctual. So be on time."

"Oh, man…" Sybil let out. "I have to be honest, I'm not the best with keeping track of a clock."

"Like you lose the actual clock or you're never on time?"

"I'm never on time!"

"Okay, then, uh, I'll be there at 8:30…"

"Nope," Sybil shook her head. "It doesn't work like that. You already told me nine so when I hear eight-thirty I know you mean nine."

"Fine. Uh, then I'll just wait."

"What if my parents come home?"

"I'll introduce myself and explain that I'm doing a service to the community by taking their weird younger daughter out for breakfast."

"They'll like that. They always say I need more friends," Sybil revealed simply, doing her best to play along. Beneath all of it, Tom thought he heard a bit of sadness in her voice, and vowed to ask her about it. Tomorrow.

"Well get some sleep, Sybil Crawley."

"Will do, Tom Branson. Thanks for the chat."

"My pleasure."

"And just know, the suspense of this mystery fact is killing me. Make it good."

Tom went to say goodnight but already the line was disconnected. Altogether shocked by what had just happened and how easy it all was, Tom looked down to his screen which was fading in the absence of her. He rolled over toward where he had dropped his watch on his bedside table to check the time. Not even one in the morning and already, he wanted to see her again. Eight hours, he thought, and when he returned from the shower in his pajamas and got into bed, it was already down to seven. He thought of that and another thing as he did his best to drift off: Friends, friends, friends, friends…

He did not want to be friends with Sybil Crawley. A fact he'd known since he first met her, and now, one that began to take on an entirely different meaning.

* * *

Happy almost Birthday, Angela! I hope you liked it!

And for everyone else, reviews are appreciated!

x. Elle


	3. Breakfast With A Friend

This was twice in a twenty-four hour period that Sybil found herself sitting on steps waiting to talk to Tom. Just last night, the two had met, kissed, and were forced to only think of more when Mary and Matthew walked in, demanding Sybil go home. Then, with the help of Mary's contact list, and with actions that went against her wishes, Sybil called Tom, first to apologize, but then to talk. It was simple enough, and wholly innocent, just as mindless as she imagined the breakfast they'd share together this morning would be.

Several minutes passed, and nine o'clock soon became nine-fifteen, then nine-twenty, when Tom finally arrived. In seeing her sitting on the steps, he quickly got out of the car and raised his arms in defeat, as a pained, hopeless look marked his face.

"Syb!" he let out. "You said you'd be late…"

She stood up and adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag, where a jacket hung just in case they stayed out late. Sybil had no idea what Tom had planned, and she reveled in the freedom of it all.

"You said you were always early," she gave with a smile, one that showed she was clearly not as bothered by his lateness as he was.

Tom moved to open her door, but Sybil stopped him, using both an arm and her words to still his feet. "Tom, it's fine, alright? It's funny. I don't mind. It's a nice morning out…"

"All mornings are nice," he quipped. "But I'm sure this being one of the few you've ever seen, you have little to compare it to."

When Sybil was seated in the car, Tom shut the door behind her. He then ran back to the driver's side and got in. Inside, he turned to her, noticing how she was still smiling, and wearing clothing much different from last night. Her chunky heels were replaced by simple keds, and a heather grey cardigan lay draped over her slim shoulders. The only skin exposed was that of her neck above her camisole, and around her ankles where her denim skinnies didn't quite reach the tongue of her trainers. She also was barely wearing any makeup, maybe a bit of mascara, and lip balm for the mouth Tom couldn't stop staring at, especially as he drove off and she laughed at his attempt to jest.

"I hope you don't expect me to be much for conversation. I don't think my brain works before eleven, to be honest…"

Tom looked to her and smirked. "It seems to be working fine. Look at you, walking and talking…"

"Your smartass capabilities are in full swing, as usual," she gave right back. "What time were you up this morning?"

"Five."

"Dear christ!"

Tom laughed. "Went for a run, read the paper, kicked that girl from last night out of my bed…"

"Just because you're sad I couldn't stay doesn't mean you need to keep bringing her up," Sybil said, playing along. "It makes you seem very insecure."

Tom's voice softened. "I am."

Sybil was taken aback, but she did her best to remain one step ahead. "Insecure? I know, I noticed that last night, remember?"

"No," his voice shook. "Sad you couldn't stay."

"Are you always this forward?"

"We're friends," Tom said quickly, hoping to remedy the situation and salvage the day, all that was left of it and the words they hadn't yet said to create plans he could only hope would come to fruition. "With my friends, yes."

"We weren't friends when I stole your beer. You were pretty forward then…"

"Well at least I'm consistent, right?"

Sybil said nothing and instead looked out the window. She found it odd that Tom had a car while away at school, and she wondered if it was a rental, or if his parents purchased it for him as a graduation gift. Just as he was at the party, his hair was combed back, but quaffed in the front forming the smallest pompadour. He was wearing a button up, and dark-wash jeans much like her own. But this was morning Tom, and she imagined that someday when she was an adult, she'd dress similarly, having the time, income, and sense to know what fashions properly fit each occasion. As they drove to the cafe, Sybil found herself imagining Tom in all the roles of his life: when he went home to visit his family for holidays, when he tutored, when he played rugby. It seemed, at least according to the pictures on his wall, that Tom already had a much more interesting life than she did. Ten years, she imagined, had afforded him the capacity for such fulfillment.

When they pulled up to the cafe, Sybil learned something else about Tom; he was an excellent driver, and could handle a car quite well. On the ride over, through much of the allowed silence, Sybil realized how safe she felt, and though Tom sometimes went fast, it was never dangerously so. Even as he parallel parked on a side-street, she was amazed at his patience and precision, and the way he didn't mind putting his Range Rover next to other, more economical vehicles in this part of town.

"So you're one of those girls, huh?"

"I already told you, Tom, I'm not like any girl. I'm me…"

He rolled his eyes. "What I meant was, you don't like doors being opened for you."

"Not car doors, no," she stated simply. "If you want to hold the cafe door while I walk in, that'd be nice. But I'll return the favor eventually. I appreciate the show of chivalry, but really, I'm fine…"

"Capable," he noted.

"Yes," Sybil smirked. "More than capable."

They were seated at a booth in the back and Sybil smirked as she sipped at the espresso drink she ordered, simultaneously loving how high the seat rose above her head to conceal them while also wishing people could see. She certainly wasn't ashamed, but the thought was enough to make her wonder if Tom was. Perhaps he chose this place because of the intimacy. They were allowed a small corner to chat and drink, while the city woke up around them outside. She had grown up in London but moved here when her father received the position of Vice-Chancellor at the school when she was only three. Never before had she been to this cafe despite spending a lot of her time in this part of town and she wondered how many times she had passed Tom while he sat here typing a paper, while she walked outside, heading to an art gallery, or a local yoga studio.

Not wanting to lie to him again, Sybil turned to Tom with wide eyes, deciding that now was as good a time as ever to share her thoughts. "My father's head of administration, you know."

Tom sat back and chuckled. "I do know, but thank you for that frank reminder."

"Well, I didn't want you to think I was lying about something else."

"Mary's used that one on me before."

Sybil narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure you're not in love with my sister?"

Tom sat forward again. "I'm more than sure. She's not my type…"

Sybil laughed as she curled a finger behind her ear, fixing the baby hairs that fell out of their pin while she looked down to her cup. "I think Mary is every man's type…"

"Well, to be honest," Tom let out, "I don't really have a type. But Mary is...high maintenance."

Sybil smirked as she leaned forward to rest her cheek on her balled fist. "How long do you think it took me to get ready this morning?"

"I don't know...twenty minutes?"

"Almost an hour. Am I high maintenance?"

Tom shrugged. "No, not that I can tell."

"I don't follow…"

A smirk played its way across Tom's face. "You're protective of Mary, aren't you?" Sybil nodded, so he continued. "You're protective of her but you've been overshadowed by her your entire life."

"Is that a question or are you just observing?" Her brows furrowed again, causing that signature confused crease in the center of her forehead. "Or is this judgement?"

"No judgement," Tom clarified quickly as he once again sat back, holding flat palms up in obvious surrender. "I guess it's a question."

"I haven't been overshadowed by her. At least not to my knowledge, but perhaps you know more than I do. But yes, I am protective of her. She's protective of me…"

"Protective or bossy?"

"What is your issue?" Sybil called. As she stared down at where her hands picked apart a small square paper napkin, she continued. "What? Because she interrupted us she's bossy?"

Tom breathed out. "Nothing, it's fine. I'm sorry. It was stupid to say any of that and I don't know what I'm talking about."

Sybil sat back and took a deep breath. "No," she said to correct, her voice sounding soft and sweet. "I don't know where that came from."

Tom smirked. "She's your sister. That's your family. I get it. I have an older sister…"

Sybil's eyes brightened as she looked back to him. "You do?"

"I do. And I'm also very protective of her. She, uh, she got pregnant when she was only a bit older than you. I was young at the time. We weren't really close before that, but now, she's one of my best friends. It really changed my life, I think. I began to look at the world differently."

"What's her name?"

"Emilee. And her daughter is Rory."

"Those are beautiful names."

"Well, when you finally come to Ireland, maybe you could meet them."

She looked up and smiled. "I'd like that."

Again, Tom sighed. "I'm sorry—"

"No, it's fine. Can we just order? I don't like to argue…"

"You don't like to argue?" Tom smirked.

"Fine," Sybil corrected with a calming huff. "I like to argue plenty, but I don't like to argue with you."

Tom smiled. "Then we won't argue."

"Alright," Sybil nodded. "But I was serious about ordering. I'm starved."

He chuckled. "What looks good?"

"All of it. I hope you won't be repulsed by everything I order."

"No."

"And you'll let me pay for it?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"This isn't about feminism!" she said quickly, and with a bit of humor. "I just honestly am going to order a lot of food and it'd be unfair for me to make you pay for it."

"Okay," Tom said with another laugh.

As Sybil returned her attention to the menu, he found he couldn't stop staring at her. He knew what he wanted, and he'd order the same thing he always did: a full breakfast with both sausage and bacon. Until the waitress came over, or until Sybil looked up, he was content just as he was now, his eyes gazing upon her, taking in the way her hair was braided along her hairline, and pulled back so carelessly to hang at the nape of her neck. She was often playing with her lips, and he was distracted by this, enjoying even when she bit at the skin on the inside of her cheeks while she listened to him talk. Truthfully, he enjoyed the conversations they had, and found it amusing that she was constantly filling the silence, especially now, when he was so thankful for its existence because it gave him time to unapologetically stare at her.

Tom was brought out of his reverie by a waitress, one who had served him many times before, taking their orders. Sybil did order a full meal, and another latte, but Tom wasn't taken aback by it. It was actually rather lovely to be able to enjoy his food with someone who knew how to do the same. She even went as far as to close her eyes as she bit into her first piece of bacon, humming a steady "mmm" to show her approval.

"What are your parents like?" she asked as she dipped a piece of her toast into the runny yolk of her eggs. She bit into the bread and chewed as she waited for Tom's answer.

"Happy. Hardworking. They both teach."

"Really? What do they teach?"

"Literature. Both of them. At UCC."

"What's that?"

"University College at Cork."

Slowly, Sybil nodded, doing her best not to be embarrassed by how little of Ireland she knew. "Do you think they're upset you didn't take that route?"

"No," Tom smirked. "I think they're a bit surprised I've gotten this far with my education regardless of the subject. They've always been very laid back with Emilee and I. They each had strict parents and because of that, they've taken the opposite approach."

"My parents are strict…"

"Are they?"

Sybil nodded. "Well, my Dad is really conservative. Big on tradition. My mum is by default."

"What does your mam do?"

"She's an interior designer, actually. That's what they're in Paris for. She was buying drapes."

"I also go to Paris to buy my drapes," Tom quipped, earning a giggle from Sybil.

"Me too," she gave back just as sarcastically. Then: "When did you start writing Mary's papers?" It came as simply as the rest of their conversation, but the weight it carried and the way in which Sybil's eyes became serious spoke volumes beyond what her lips could prepare.

"Yeah," Tom settled, his laugh officially faded. "I thought you'd bring that up."

Sybil smiled as she poked at the last of her eggs, pushing them onto her fork. "I don't care. No judgement, remember?"

Tom sighed as he sat back. "Well, I TA for this douchebag professor, Dr. Kolberg. Real asshole. He's a hardass. He assigns way too much reading, rambles on about things he finds interesting, and constantly calls on students just to scare them. And he knows some of these kids are only there to fulfill a core requirement. It's really disgusting…"

"Did you do well in his class?"

"Of course," Tom said casually. "Really well. But I have the upper-hand anyway. He's biased toward men...honestly believes women are the inferior sex."

"Well does he know what your dissertation is on?"

"He does," Tom laughed. "He's on the panel…"

"Tom…"

"I'm fine. I thrive off of proving people like him wrong."

Sybil looked up from her now half-cleared plate. "I bet you do."

"So, anyway, Mary was practically failing. She came to see me during my office hours but still did poorly on the next test because Dr. Kolberg tested on things I don't even remember him covering in class. Like, this is graduate level material we're talking about. So anyway, she went to go see him, explaining what was going on, and he wasn't the kindest. I walked in on him being kind of inappropriate with her—"

Sybil's eyes widened at the thought of Mary, and a man she could only assume was unattractive and brash, alone together in some cold, sterile basement office. "What?"

"She's fine," Tom dismissed. "Nothing happened. They were only talking…"

"Was Mary okay?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's fine...I offered to tutor her in front of him and I got her out of there. Now, she puts together an outline of a paper idea she has, and I write it."

"Tom, that's cheating…"

"Yeah, and your dad's the VC of the school, so what is anyone going to do about it?"

"Well, he should fire this Kolberg guy, for starters!"

"Syb, he has tenure. He's not going anywhere. Besides, the class is almost over, and he didn't touch her. Mary's passing with a B now. She'll be fine," Tom assured. "Actually, she'll probably do better than any other female ever has in one of his courses…"

"That's...that's very kind of you, Tom," Sybil managed through lips that were still trying to make sense of everything. "I mean, thankfully you were there to help Mary out, though I don't really know if she deserves that. She called you weird last night."

Heartily, Tom laughed. "I am weird."

"You're not weird," Sybil dismissed. "I don't think you're weird."

"Well maybe you're weird too!"

Genuinely, Sybil smirked. "Can I ask something without you judging me?"

Tom made a face. "I don't judge!"

"Alright. What did she tell you about me?"

"I don't know. She just mentioned that she had a younger sister."

"That's it?"

"She said you were smart. Are you smart?"

"I do well in school, sure."

"Do you want to go to uni?"

"Absolutely."

"Where?"

"I want to go to Oxford, I think…"

Tom smiled. "I knew you were an Oxford girl!" he pointed.

"I don't know if I'll get in…"

"Syb, with who your dad is…"

"Exactly..." she gave with a shrug. "Everyone expects me to go to Cambridge."

"Then prove them wrong. Do what you want to do! Which is…"

"Medicine. Heart medicine."

"Cardiology?"

"It's fascinating," she beamed.

"That's…" He was staring again. "That's amazing, Syb."

"You think? I know it sounds insane because I haven't even started uni yet, but this is what makes sense to me. It's just this organ but we're dependent on so much of it's work. And it's so connected with the different parts of us. Like men and women have different hearts. It's a fact, they do. Just being born a certain way affects how your heart beats and how big it is. And things like laughter and sadness all impact the way it pumps blood or utilizes oxygen. You know, people know how crucial it is to have a heart, but they don't realize all we, as people, are wasting by not taking advantage of all it has to offer. I don't think it's studied enough and the people that do study it, only study the bad stuff instead of realizing all the good that can come from the heart."

"I don't think that's crazy at all."

"Good. I don't think we could be friends if you did."

"I want us to be friends, Sybil. I think we're already doing a fairly good job of it…"

"Me too," she said, smiling sweetly up at him.

Sybil didn't know what word would properly describe her relationship with Tom. Quick, would suffice, as already in such a short period of time, she felt as if she knew a lot about him. He was a friend now, or at least more of a friend than he had been this time yesterday. She knew about his family, his work at Cambridge, and his plans for after he received his PhD. She told him about the novel she was reading, and how she wanted to take up kickboxing. He didn't have a favorite color, but when on and on about all of the dishes his mom made that he missed when he was at school. Once again, he mentioned traveling to Ireland, and Sybil found herself making a joke of someday joining him on a trip back home. The topic of friendship did not come up again, but it crossed Sybil's mind frequently, almost as frequently as the idea, the craving, to reach across the table, or later, across the console, and kiss him. It was not lust, but a want to feel his lips for more than the words he spoke, though those, she assured, were lovely as well. She was so distracted, so enamored, so utterly content with their banter that she didn't even remember that he had forgotten to share with her his fact of the day.

* * *

x. Elle


	4. Arguing

**A/N****:** Obviously age is an incredibly important theme in this story. If you know me at all, you'll know that even if Sybil and Tom weren't ten years apart, I'd find a way to make commentary on age and maturity and the way society treats those things as constantly linked. I will argue, as I have in the past, that there is no correlation and that mental age is all that should be taken into consideration. So yes, Sybil is 16 and Tom is 26. In the UK, this is not illegal. (Also, didn't they have a similar age gap in the show? Just sayin'...) I only write what I believe to be honest and true, ie, sometimes teenagers date twenty-somethings. But in the meantime, these two are just friends. For now, I promise no more or no less. I write with the intention to make people question their views on the world. But if this downright makes you uncomfortable you are more than welcome to stop reading.

*Note: This story, and _Peata Beag A Dhaidí_ are unbeta'd, which means I have a lot of fun writing them (with such little pressure) but little details also slip through the cracks. Last chapter I called Robert the Dean of the school. Apparently at Cambridge this title is more synonymous with Vice-Chancellor. I've made the change in the previous chapter and I ask that everyone take note. Thanks. Sorry for the error. *embarrassing*

* * *

It did not bother Tom that Sybil was still in secondary school. It did, however, bother him that the school still required a uniform for certain sixth form classes, a uniform which Sybil wore to his flat everyday after her courses ended. The uniform was a change from her usual attire, and consisted of a pleated skirt and blazer, with signature wool socks and starched blouse. It was almost summer, so by the time she invited herself up to his lofted bedroom, her blazer was folded up into her rucksack, and her skirt was rolled at the waist, allowing the cool breeze of late Spring to brush at her exposed knees.

The door to Tom's flat was never locked. It was more likely that each boy would lock his individual room, something Sybil was warned of early on, and encouraged to use as a reminder for when she was looking for the loo. In addition to Matthew, there were four other boys in the flat, all of them undergraduate students except for Tom. Three of them were pre-med, one was a Political Science major, and Matthew was studying to become a solicitor while also taking several business administration classes. All five boys studied as hard as they partied, and were more amused by Tom than anything. He was the first to pay his rent every month, an act that served as a prompt for the rest of the boys that it was even due. Beyond that, they rarely saw him, and he spent a good portion of his days in his room, corresponding with the professors he assisted and working on his dissertation. When Sybil would peek her head into his room each afternoon, she often found him asleep at his desk, or even on his bed, where she'd join him only to inevitably wake him up as she tried to get comfortable. Then, he'd retreat to his desk, giving her all of his bed to spread out upon in his absence.

Other times, she'd knock at his door, and as he opened, she'd smile at him, and raise her eyebrows before brushing past him to throw her things down by the foot of his bed. This was where she'd kick off her shoes as well, and then, just as she'd down for the past month, she began to do her homework while silently expecting him to do the very same thing. It was routine and inexplicably so. After their meeting at the cafe, they spent exactly one day apart: a Sunday. That was three weeks ago, and they'd seen each other every day thereafter. Doing what and all for what purpose, neither knew, but both Sybil and Tom were aware of the palpable chemistry they shared, and how even in the silence, there was both comfort and excitement at the words left unsaid.

Today, as Sybil flipped through a textbook and occasionally scribbled notes down on a fresh piece of looseleaf, she absentmindedly talked to Tom, asking him what he was working on, or how his own classes were that day. Already she had learned so much from him about what university life was really like, and found that there seemed to be a lot more free time than she could have ever anticipated, especially when it came to doctoral programs. It was all about self-discipline and being able to stay motivated without the guise of classroom time, something Tom struggled with lately and now as Sybil lay on her stomach atop his mattress, her legs bent at the knee, kicking her sock-covered legs up into the air behind her. Because of this, her skirt pooled away from her thighs, especially as she swung her outstretched feet back and forth. He spent the time, obviously answering her questions, but also tapping a pen against his bottom lip as his eyes feasted on the pale skin of her legs, and the curve of her backside. Sometimes she'd lean down to grab a pencil, or folder from her bag, causing her chest to appear much more supple and inviting than it should in such a simple white shirt.

They were friends, he reminded himself, but never before had he had a friend so pretty, and so very clueless. _Christ, she was young_, Tom found himself constantly repeating.

It was worth noting that Sybil wasn't clueless. She'd felt boys stare at her before, but with Tom, it was different. He was not a randy boy, but a man, and the thought of him finding something even slightly stimulating within her, was more than enough to make her blush. But he listened to her as well, and when he made her snacks or bought her tea, she realized this was more than just an opportunity for him to look at her and for her to look away, pretending she was none the wiser. It was just as fun for her to tease him about politics as it was to reveal to him the skin above her wool socks. All of it was new to her, but each and every time Sybil challenged Tom, either with her body or her mind, he met her challenge tenfold, creating a supreme doubt within her that regardless of age or any other defining characteristic, it was unlikely she be this compatible with anyone else for quite a long time.

"Where do you tell them you are?"

Sybil looked up, her eyes wide but emotionless as she searched for Tom across the room. He wasn't looking at her though, and with his glasses on, he stared at his computer screen while he typed into a word document. When she did not speak, he spun in his chair to glance at her. With his movement, he took his glasses off and sat back, still waiting for an answer as he chewed on the frames.

Sybil smirked, but was hesitant. "What do you mean?"

"Your parents. Where do they think you are right now?"

"The library."

"Cambridge or your school's?"

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. Again, everything was so innocent; she hadn't really given it much thought. "I just tell them I'm going to the library after school."

"And when you sometimes miss dinners. Where are you then?"

"They're very trusting. I'm more than capable of finding a local cafe or restaurant to eat at."

Tom smirked and put his glasses back on before turning back to his screen to once against type, this time into an email. "How's the food at these places?"

Sybil smirked. She thought of the seafood alfredo he had prepared her just last night, and then last week, the meat pie (what he called a pastie) the two of them managed to make from odds and ends they found in the poorly stocked pantry and refrigerator of Tom's shared flat. "Good. The company's nice. Good atmosphere too," she added, knowing that despite not being able to see him, he was just as amused by all of this as she was.

Still typing, Tom threw another question over his shoulder. "Do you lie to your parents often?"

"No," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I mean, doesn't everyone? But I'm not that good at it. Mary always was, and still is, but I never really had much to lie about."

"But you're lying now?"

"I mean, yeah, but it's such a white lie. What's the difference if I was at the library or here? I'm doing the same thing regardless. Studying, eating, drinking tea…"

"Forcing me to watch Little Miss Sunshine…" Tom sang.

"Which you loved," Sybil returned, causing him to drop his head back and laugh, practically admitting that yes, he did enjoy the film, and it was certainly a better way to spend a Monday night than contacting women who quite possibly had paramilitary connections in the seventies.

"Why don't we go out then?" Sybil tried next, thinking now was as good a time as any to demand the truth. Then, rather childishly, she heard herself think: _Well, he started it_, to which she smirked again, and continued to flip through her textbook glossary.

Tom turned again but this time his glasses remained on. "Where do you want to go?"

"Out," she stated. "I don't know…" Her voice trailed off. "Is it me? Is it my uniform? I mean, we're just friends, right? So it's not like it'd be weird. I can bring clothes to change into, if you wanted..."

Tom stopped her, doing so by leaning forward to drop his elbows on his spread knees. He sighed. "It's not weird," he insisted. "I just...where do you want to go? Where could I take you in this city that you haven't already been?"

"I don't know," Sybil gave again. She cared, but she couldn't let him know she cared, or at least she could only care as much as a friend was meant to care - however much that was, as if friendship was defined by quantities of emotion and not the overall quality of personhood shared between two people. "Like to eat. Like we went to the cafe—"

"And we've been back to the cafe every Saturday since then…"

"We have," Sybil nodded. "Are there any parties coming up?"

"Sybil…" Tom let out as he dropped his head down and began to scrape at his scalp with frustrated fingers. "We're not going to a party."

Sybil smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because. What would we do? You don't know anyone…"

"I know you! You and I met. I could introduce myself to other people," she stated simply. "It's been known to happen before…"

Tom shook his head and sat back once more. "Trust me when I say there is no one worth meeting at those parties."

"You met me at one of those parties."

"Yeah, and I'm still trying to figure this all out, so…"

Sybil couldn't help it. Even when she completely disagreed with what he was saying or found his opinions and thoughts to be arrogant and far too assertive, she was smiling at him.

"Are you ashamed of me? I mean, your flatmates don't even know who I am. They think you've got a new shag, I'm sure. I don't get why you can't just tell them we're friends." Then it was her turn to sit up, and as she did, she closed her textbook, telling Tom that she was officially done with homework. It was almost dinnertime anyway. "Unless that's embarrassing too. You know, us being friends. If that's the case, then we should go to a party. I can meet another boy and you can get rid of me."

Tom chuckled and turned back to his computer. "I'm not entertaining that."

Sybil was propelled upward by his negation of her claim, finding the dismissal to be a challenge, one she'd meet the way they met all others: with laughter and teasing, and some form of electric-like physical contact. Here, she kneeled on his mattress, and rolled her skirt again almost as if she were preparing for a fight. "You're not entertaining that? We're talking. What's even being entertained? I'm not asking you to tell me anything but the truth, Tom."

"Well I think if it was embarrassing for us to be friends, I wouldn't allow you to come over after school—"

Still kneeling, Sybil crossed her arms over her chest and waited, knowing words that were just as insulting were sure to follow. She rolled her eyes and chose instead to be amused by it all. "Well, thank you so much, Tom, for allowing me to come over. What a service you've done for the community, really!"

"Sybil," Tom said, standing with the help of the back of his desk chair. "Stop it, alright? We're friends and we hang out and we have a good time. I like who I am with you...I just don't know what we're supposed to do. We can't go to your house and I can't take you to bars and if we go to the cinema and out to dinner, people will think we're dating and—"

"And that would just be really awful for you, wouldn't it?"

"No!" he said quickly. "No, it honestly wouldn't be! But I don't want people thinking I'm taking advantage of some girl, alright?"

"Some girl?" Sybil scoffed. That was what she was waiting for, and she joined Tom, standing in front of him with a knee bent and her arms still crossed stiffly over her chest in offense. "If I'm just some girl, I can go! Jesus Christ, Tom! What is this all of a sudden?"

"Sybil, stop it…"

"We've done so well until now. So well!" she emphasized. "Gaaahhhhd!" she let out, throwing her hands upward in surrender. "You know, you don't want me to go, but me staying is also really tricky. You don't want people to think we're dating but you'd hate to even think of me dating someone else. Pick one, Tom! You can't have it both ways!"

"I didn't say any of that - you did! And I certainly don't want it both ways!" he shouted.

"Then what do you want?"

"I don't know, Sybil! What do you want?"

She leaned back on her weight and pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. "I asked you first!"

"Wow! Mature!"

"Oh, piss off, Tom! Seriously!"

"No," Tom breathed out. "What do you want, Sybil?"

"I want to be friends with you. But I want to go places and do things and have it not be weird. You know, since we met, all you've told me is how you don't care what people think of you—"

"I don't," he assured.

Sybil forced a small smile, one that was easy to wear as he smiled too. "Me neither. So why does it matter? We know the truth…" Again, she sighed. "In a month you have become a really good friend, Tom, but if you're still confused by this, and you want me to go, just say it, alright? At any point…"

"I do not want you to go!" he said sternly. "You know I enjoy your company. You know I wish I didn't always have to work on this stupid fucking dissertation. But everyday can't be a Friday night or a Saturday morning, Sybil! Life is Mondays and Tuesdays. Lots of them. With no weekend in sight. My life was mediocre and boring before you came along…"

"Your life wasn't…" She started, but she also stopped herself, causing her lips to slowly clasp back shut before parting again as a heavy exhale escaped them. "Your life wasn't mediocre or boring. I won't believe that and you shouldn't either. At least no more mediocre or boring than mine was. Or anyone's is, really. And I'm sorry if you think I was asking to be entertained. That's not what I was saying. What I was saying is that I just feel like you and I constantly stay in this room and this flat and there's only so much bad television we can watch and good food you can make me before I feel as if I'm bothering you. So if it came off as me asking for something, it's was meant to be the opposite. You're in uni and I'm not and I guess it's just bizarre because I don't want to keep you from doing what you're supposed to be doing in college which is—"

"I don't know," Tom shrugged. "I was never much for socializing."

"You've had girlfriends before." Tom looked to her and Sybil, with a hand on her hip, rolled her eyes. "Not that I'm your girlfriend. I mean, we're not dating. I'm just saying, what did you do with them?"

"Things I shouldn't have been doing. I told you, things were different after my sister got pregnant. I changed."

"How did you change?"

Tom paused to think. He had an answer, several of them, he just wasn't sure if they'd ever be the right answer in Sybil's mind. "I got serious about school. I didn't care about girls as much…"

"Are you gay?" Sybil said flatly. "Are you coming out to me? Is that what this is?"

Tom cocked his head to the side in obvious unamusement. Sybil made a face and the two shared a laugh. "Do you think we'd be friends if you hadn't changed?"

"No," Tom said flatly. "I know we wouldn't be. But I don't think I'd be in this city if I didn't change."

"Why's that?"

"I'd be in Kinsale. I'd be drunk a lot. Maybe I'd have a girl or two knocked up by now. I don't know."

"Were there many of them?"

"Of…"

"These girls."

"There were more than there should have been, yeah. I was sixteen, Sybil."

"I'm sixteen," she offered. "I've…" But she stopped and bit her lip, and when the plump skin was released, it was even more red than before. The truth she was going to reveal was different from what actually left her mouth. "I've never even had a boyfriend."

"Who you are at sixteen is not who I was at sixteen."

"Well you pointed to the age as if it matters. But now you're saying it wasn't the age, it was just you being at a fundamentally different stage in your life."

"Well, yeah," Tom shrugged. "Because people think life happens in levels. You know, we're born and then we learn to crawl, and we walk, and then we talk, and then slowly we can take care of ourselves. In the beginning I think we're all on the same path but we don't all end up in the same place."

"Yes, we do," Sybil said, sounding incredulous. "Dead. We all end up dead, and buried, eventually."

"Alright," Tom conceded, "But our paths to get there are different. And to think that any of that is defined by age, is just ridiculous. It's defined by age no more than it's defined by hair color."

She understood, and she was happy, no — elated, that they shared such similar, intimate thoughts. "I want you to meet my family," she whispered in reply.

Her change in topic made sense to him, and he couldn't help but smile, brightly, and for an extended period of time. "I would also like you to meet my family," Tom returned.

"I can't go to Ireland—"

"Why not?"

"Because you haven't met my family yet. And by my family, I mean my mum and dad. They're good people and I think they'd like you. And then, if they do...and I think they will, I'll tell them that I want to go look at schools. And I'll convince them to let you take me next time you travel home."

Tom smirked in clear amusement. "Have you thought about this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously." But, then, her glance became serious, asking him to trust her, but for what, he was unsure.

"You're going to have to tell Mary then," he pointed. "That we're friends. That you took my number from her phone. That when she's down the hall, doing whatever it is with Matthew, you're here, doing what we do..."

"No, I won't."

"Sybil, she'll—"

"She's wanted to have Matthew over for the longest time. But he won't come. I think he's just scared of my father, but she worries it's because he's not interested in her. But they're not dating. Because blowjobs do not equal dating, apparently." Tom snorted out a laugh and Sybil realized in her rambling that she had revealed too much. Still, she persisted. They were friends, she reminded herself. He was bound to learn these things eventually. At this rate, she was bound to reveal more secrets even before the night was through. "So, I told her that I'd invite a friend over to make it less awkward."

"And I'm that friend?"

"You're that friend." Then: "If you want to be that friend."

"I want to be that friend," Tom accepted.

"No blowjobs for you though. If I'm putting my mouth on any man, we're dating. I have morals."

"Got it," Tom said, letting out a loud laugh as he dropped his hand to his stomach. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sybil looked to him and grinned, a byproduct of the laughter she was suppressing, that which made her usually full lips, pointed and rather uncomfortable looking. "What do you want?"

"I already said, for you to meet my family…"

"No because we won't be doing that for awhile. Pick something else."

"Well, there's a rally…" Tom finally admitted.

Sybil's eyes peaked and her lips spread into a smile. "A rally?"

"A rally," he nodded. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go, but I didn't think you would."

"What kind of a rally?"

"It's on campus…" Tom said slowly. He thought of her father and she must have too, but the same thing that caused fear within him, provoked excitement with her. "I didn't know if you wanted to...or if you could…"

"I want to," she said quickly with a strong nod. "What are we protesting?"

"Budget cuts, mostly. Tuition's gone up but certain really crucial programs are being cut next year. One of them is the Women and Gender Studies program. And half of our arts department is already being phased out. Just the state of education at Cambridge is seriously being put into question. It's ridiculous…"

Sybil's eyes widened. "I love it."

"Syb, this isn't a game, alright? I mean your dad is the Vice-Chancellor of the school…"

"Do you want me there?"

"Hell yeah I want you there," he said with a laugh. "But I know this is a bit of a risk."

"But it'll be fun, right? There's nothing wrong with peaceful protest. That's what it is, right? Like flyers and speeches and friendly debate?"

"Yeah," Tom said with a small shrug. "Something like that. It's just a few of us so far. It's Friday. I know you have class late on Fridays, but you could meet me afterward. And then maybe if you wanted, we could grab a bite to eat when it was over."

Again, Sybil beamed. "Yes." Then: "Yes," it came again, this time even more strongly. "I will absolutely be there. I can't wait. And then on Saturday, you can come over for dinner."

"Was it the food?" Tom jested. "Did that seal the deal?"

With a scrunched nose, Sybil smacked Tom's shoulder, causing him to cower in defense. "Syb!" he let out. "Jesus, that genuinely hurts! I've told you that before!"

"No it doesn't, you big baby!"

"We need to work on your social skills, young lady," he reprimanded, all the while deflecting yet another swat. This time she laughed out loud, and in the wake of her hand leaving his shoulder, he caught her wrist again and held it high above his head in ransom. "Apologize."

"No way," she scoffed, hitting him with her other hand.

It was his turn to the laugh, and she joined him as the two now began to scuffle, playfully of course, their bodies fumbling around, arms hitting legs in an awkward game of air-twister, before they inevitably collapsed into a heap on the bed with Tom hovering over Sybil, holding each wrist firmly into the mattress. Together, the two did their best to catch their breath, with Sybil's chest heaving beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. The cross necklace Tom wore draped down toward her chest, but neither moved their eyes away from the other's. Each inhale had the gaze they shared intensifying.

"I lied," Sybil finally said.

Tom's brow creased in confusion. "What?"

"Awhile ago. That first day...when you took me to the cafe for the first time. I said I didn't like to argue with you." Sybil paused. "I lied."

Tom smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nodded innocently. "I quite fancy arguing with you."

"We do argue a lot."

"When we met we were arguing."

"Yeah," Tom breathed out a laugh. "I guess we were."

"Does that bother you? That we argue, I mean…"

"Does it bother you?"

"No…"

"If I say it does, do you want to argue about it?"

Sybil let out a loud cackle and Tom laughed too, even going as far as to relax into the moment, closing his eyes for just long enough for Sybil to reach over to grab one of his pillows, hitting him with the soft downy cushion. His eyes became serious quickly, and they laughed once more as he did his best to regain control, never once thinking that it was best to concede and admit defeat. He did like when they argued and he'd constantly be this disagreeable if it meant letting go with her in this way, her small form tucked so carelessly beneath his, a beautiful dance now, and with the possibility of being made that much more beautiful if clothes were to be removed. But that would be his secret, and he'd keep it to himself, not knowing that it crossed Sybil's mind often too, and if shared, it'd be one of the few things they'd actually agree on.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Sorry if these last chapters haven't been as comedic? I put that where I can, and I think that's definitely an interesting and important dynamic for these two, but I also think this chapter needed to happen. What I have planned will occur slowly. Timing, for these two, will be everything. So if you're still on board - thanks for reading!

x. Elle


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